


start with a tablespoon of trouble

by qvrons



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Baking, Domestic Fluff, Keith is the most wonderful and excellent boyfriend in the whole entire universe, Kissing, M/M, Pre-Kerberos Mission, or at least an earth AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:48:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7847515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/qvrons/pseuds/qvrons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Keith is the champion of whisking.</p>
            </blockquote>





	start with a tablespoon of trouble

**Author's Note:**

> then add a smile and let it bubble up
> 
> (written for day 1 of August Sheith Week but finished roughly a day late - excessively sappy and gay, brace yourself)

“ _Gently_ ,” Shiro chided, more amused than concerned.

Keith responded with a drawn-out, tight-lipped growl aimed at the bowl in his hands, whisking with even more intensity than before. Shiro couldn't help but laugh, despite Keith's huff of indignation.

“I _just_ \--” Keith began, with a solid whip of his whisk, “-- _want_ \--” another whip, more aggressive than the last, “--to be _good_ \--” a final, decisive whip, “-- _at_ _cooking_!” he finished, setting the bowl down on the counter harshly for emphasis. Shiro laughed again, softer this time but equally fond, and reached a hand out to rub the back of Keith’s shoulder, Keith releasing a deep sigh as his stiffened shoulders drooped at the contact.

“Maybe we should've started off with something other than a cake,” Shiro admitted, and Keith glared up at him with a pout. “Just to start off with,” he clarified, “something that requires a little less patience.”

“And less whisking,” Keith groaned softly as he stretched out and rubbed at his tired stirring arm.

“But you’re the _very_ _best_ at whisking,” Shiro half-teased, eyebrows tilting with mock distress at the idea of the _very best_ _whisker_ no longer whisking for him - it would be a _very_ great tragedy, to say the _very_ least.

Keith turned his head to look at him, staring him dead in the eye as he placed both hands on either side of the bowl and pulled it towards himself, before snatching up the whisk from where it rested against the rim and proceeding to whisk at maximum velocity while screaming through his teeth, all in one smooth motion.

Needless to say, Shiro ended up crouched on the ground and close to tears, very nearly going blue in the face from laughing so hard as Keith continued his valiant duel with the whipped cream.

“Are these peaks?” Keith asked, voice raised from the frustration and tinged with what might have been mild desperation. “Are these fucking-- peaked enough or something? Finally?” He rambled, and Shiro nodded through a giggle, pulling himself up by the edge of the counter and reaching out to hold the bowl steady. “Goddamn. Finally,” he sighed with relief, and Shiro pressed a smile of a kiss to the side of his face. “ _Now_ we get to make it purple?”

“Now we get to make it purple,” Shiro affirmed with a nod. “Just pour it carefully into the taro mix while I fold it in. I’ll tell you when to start and stop,” he explained as he plucked a spatula from the countertop and pulled the mixing bowl with the cooled butter, sugar, powdered milk and taro mixture that they had made earlier closer. Keith had nodded, and then readied himself with the whisk and the bowl of freshly whipped cream, poised to pour on command. Shiro nuzzled at Keith's hairline briefly before placing a light kiss to his forehead.

“Ready?” He asked, knowing full well what he had just done to Keith’s heartrate and ability to breathe normally.

“Ready,” Keith said after a moment, having taken a beat to let the tightness of his throat lessen, preventing himself from stuttering out his response.

“Pour,” Shiro told him softly, watching the cream spill from one bowl into the other, Keith holding the whisk at the ready in case the flow stuttered. “Stop,” he said once there was a sizable dollop sitting on top of the taro, and Keith tilted the bowl back upright, accidentally tapping the whisk somehow and flinging droplets of cream onto himself, and he made a small, startled noise of distress in the back of his throat before humming a gruff whimper. Shiro snickered gently, nuzzling into his dark hair as he folded in the cream, as Keith wiped off his face with the back and sides of his hand.

They carried on in much the same way, brief intermissions between softly-spoken commands to start and stop from Shiro and only one more incident with the whisk on Keith’s part, until the bowl of cream had been emptied and fully folded into what had become a fluffy purple mousse.

“Do you think you can cut the cake?” Shiro asked, tone _ever-so-slightly_ smug as he teased.

“ _No,_ ” came Keith’s dejected reply as he walked down the length of the counter to where the cake sat on the other side of the stove, cream-colored and pristine. Shiro turned to him then and leaned against the countertop with his elbow, his other hand propped on his hip as it jutted out, the leg not supporting his weight bent, foot hooked behind his supporting ankle.

“Wanna give it a try?” Shiro posed, practically challenging him, really. Keith growled, giving him a pointed glare before sighing and going to pick out a knife. “Use the serrated one,” Shiro instructed, and Keith pulled out the one large serrated cutting knife that they owned, doing as he was told.

He returned to stand in front of the cake, glaring at it woefully, before bending down to get on eye-level with it, fingertips pressed light against one side of it as he carefully aligned the knife with the horizontal center of the cake. His gazed flicked up to Shiro, who was watching with a self-satisfied smile on his lips; at gaining Keith’s attention, he tried to bite back the twitch of his lips that threatened to reveal a flash of teeth, and ultimately failed, averting his gaze to the floor to compose himself before turning it back up to Keith again, who rolled his eyes and shook his head, returning his attention to the cake and finally sawing into it.

“Not bad,” Shiro said honestly, regarding the finished cut. Keith had managed to cut it into two layers without damaging the cake, even though the line of the cut was at an obvious angle.

“ _You_ get to take the top off,” Keith said pointedly, “I’m not gonna be responsible for breaking it.”

“You’ll spread the filling then, won’t you?” Shiro suggested kindly, and Keith gave him a gentle scoff.

“Only until you take it from me to prevent the complete and total obliteration of this kitchen,” he offered with a knowing smirk, smiling wider as he watched a sheepish grin flit across Shiro’s face, his gaze darting off to the side as he flustered just the slightest.

“Just pace yourself with it and you won’t make _that_ big of a mess,” he said, rolling his eyes, trying again (and failing again) to bite back the grin on his face. Keith elbowed him in the arm before picking up the mousse bowl, spatula resting inside of it, and Shiro squeaked a whine disproportionate to strength of the jab as he began to carefully lift the top layer of the cake, transferring it to the cutting board left out from cubing the taro earlier. The corner of Keith’s mouth quirked up that, and he shook his head as he stirred the mousse, loading a significant amount onto the spatula before lifting it, deciding that it was a good amount, and dropping it onto the center of the half-layer of cake, tapping it gently against the surface for good measure.

He repeated the process once more before spreading it around, swirling the flat of the spatula all across the top with a light pressure, being as careful as he could be to not go over the edges. Shiro watched him fondly with a soft smile as he focused on his task, taking a moment to appreciate the _Keith-ness_ of him, before moving to pull out a small mixing bowl and going to find all the parts of the electric beater, setting out to make the icing. They worked in relative quiet, Shiro only humming little chuckles or offering dulcet words of encouragement the handful of times Keith interrupted himself and the song he was humming to swear under his breath, having made or presumed himself to made some mistake.

“See? I told you,” Shiro said to him when he had finished applying the thick center layer of taro filling.

“There’s some streaks down the sides, though,” Keith countered with a pout, eyeing his few mistakes with disdain.

“That’s what the icing is for,” Shiro responded, removing his hands from his icing bowl with a flourish and moving to shift the top layer of cake from the cutting board to its rightful place atop Keith’s handiwork. He set it down delicately, only shifting it slightly to get the edged perfectly matched, and smiled at how obvious the stark purple mousse made the lopsided cut of it look. He removed his hands from the cake, and grabbed the brand new spreading knife that the two of them had purchased specifically for this moment. Keith’s eyes sparkled with excitement, smiling slightly as he watched Shiro work with grace, delighting in the way his hands and arms moved and the way the knife seemed to glide across the surface of the cake, leaving a smooth layer of white icing behind, imperfections quickly disappearing in its wake.

Keith licked his lips with the tip of his tongue in anticipation, and decided to step away from Shiro’s side for a moment to repossess the empty taro mousse bowl, plucking the spatula from it and taking a taste of the residual mousse stuck to it. He hummed a delighted, happy sort of sound, and returned to his place beside Shiro, content to watch him finish decorating while he occupied himself with licking the spatula clean. Shiro glanced at him sidelong from corner of his eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips and a very light pink rising to the apples of his cheeks as he flicked his gaze back to the task at hand, running the knife over the now-thickened layer of icing one last time to get it perfectly smooth on the edges and presentably smoothed on the top, little peaks left by the edges of the spreader still evident, but looking nice enough as they created the look of layered rings.

As Shiro pulled his hands away and stood back to admire the final product, Keith made a soft, pleased noise around the spatula between his lips, having been nibbling on the rubber edge, and Shiro turned to him to place his hands on either side of his slender waist. He leaned down to press a number of light kisses to Keith’s face, the boy in his arms squeaking and going stiff at first before humming low as he removed the utensil from his mouth, throwing his arms over Shiro’s shoulders in an easy motion, tilting his face up and waiting for the press of Shiro’s lips to his. It was inevitable, of course, and the lingering sugar-sweet of taro on Keith’s lips only encouraged Shiro to kiss him _more_ , and more intently, and to take this quiet moment in their kitchen to _indulge_ in the one-of-a-kind delicacy that was the taste of Keith’s skin.

Keith tilted his chin down after some time, pulling away from the kissing, and Shiro pressed one final kiss off to the side of his nose, just below one of his closed eyes, before resting his forehead against Keith’s and slowly nuzzling his nose. Keith let out a sound that could best be described as a muted giggle (it was a very happy sound, and a particularly rare sort coming from him), quickly nuzzling him back and, consequently, sending Shiro over the moon.

“Let’s cut into it now, I wanna eat it!” Keith said softly, but still tinged with an energy that was somewhat rare to hear in his tone.

“Okay, let’s do it!” Shiro said back in much the same way, watching as Keith shuffled speedily to get the big cutting knife (his personal favorite besides their one small paring knife), then shuffled back at a more careful pace, excited to finally cut into the first confection they had made together as a couple.

He pressed the knife down, the point of it aligned perfectly in the center of the cake, and carved out two picturesque slices, leaving the rest of it intact. He lifted them from the cake stand one at a time, moving each piece carefully across the short distance from the stand to one of the plates Shiro held out to him, and resettling the slices delicately on their sides. He hummed a hungry noise, grabbing a pair of forks from their silverware drawer and following Shiro as he carried the plates out into the living room space, setting them down one at a time on either side of the coffee table. Keith knelt down in front of one of the plates, handing over one of the forks to Shiro before eyeing what he had claimed as his slice of cake and _finally_ digging in.

As soon as the taste hit his tongue, he hummed a sound that reflected the state of bliss he fell into.

“Worth the four hours it took to make?” Shiro asked warmly, and Keith nodded, groaning an affirmation as he set out to devour the rest of his serving. Shiro smiled, watching him for a moment, before raising a small bite to his lips, and then understanding Keith’s sentiment entirely as soon as his put it in his mouth.

“We’re so talented,” Keith said to him, and Shiro laughed through closed lips and nodded.

“It was made with love, after all,” Shiro added after swallowing, watching as Keith’s eyes went wide and a smile crept onto his face, paired with a faint dusting of pink across his cheeks. He nodded quickly and took another bite, chewing quietly while he waited for his brain to come back online. Shiro took the opportunity to set his elbow up on the table, propping his head up against relaxed knuckles, smitten and smiling all the way to his eyes, taking another bite while he waited on Keith to speak again.

“I really liked cooking with you today,” he said after a while, gaze wandering as he began but settling on Shiro’s eyes as he continued. “I’d like to do it a lot more times, for a long time,” he confessed, raw and honest, guard lowered but strength still as apparent as ever. “If you want to, I mean,” he added, his tone and demeanor softening.

“I’d like that,” Shiro said to him, reply comfortably paced and tender, a blush in his cheeks from the thrill Keith was giving him. He reached his hand out across the table, offering his upturned palm for Keith to take, and he did, his smaller hand fitting seamlessly into Shiro's larger one. “I’d like that a lot,” he reiterated as he brought Keith's hand to his lips, pressing a loving kiss near the knuckle of his ring finger, planting a wish for the future in Keith’s hands, right where it was meant to be.

Keith raised himself to his knees and leaned across the table, kissing Shiro intently and hoping that something in the warm press of his lips would let him know just how much he wished the same thing.


End file.
